


The Nature of Attention

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fred Lives, HP: EWE, M/M, Other, Polyamorous relationshio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 01:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2132148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They notice Harry when no one else does, and in return, he sees them for what they are.</p><p>In which Harry discovers the nature of media, life and his boyfriends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nature of Attention

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Y_ellow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Y_ellow/gifts).



> Written for Y_ellow's prompt:
> 
> They notice Harry when no one else does, and in return, he sees them for what they are.
> 
> Y_ellow, I hope you enjoy this :)

Harry stared at the newspaper with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Though his life had been making front page news for years, he'd never quite gotten used to the attention. Besides, most of what they published was inaccurate at best, and lies at worst. This article was no exception.

'WAR HERO SCORNED BY GIRLFRIEND' exclaimed the article in bold writing. Below was a picture of Ginny locked in a passionate embrace with none other than Luna Lovegood. Quickly, he scanned the article. It speculated on his relationship with Ginny, what his reaction to the 'betrayal' would be, what he'd done to earn Ginny's scorn and everything in between. In other words, it was utter shite. Without even looking, he knew who'd written it - Rita Skeeter.

Sighing, he leaned back in his seat and sipped on his cup of tea, leaning back in his chair, dropping the newspaper on the kitchen table.

He still found it still found it strange that he had a kitchen table, let alone his own kitchen, in his own house. The scrawny, unhappy boy from Privet Lane a decade before could not have imagined this future, and sometimes it still felt like it couldn't possibly be true.

Of course, Grimmauld Place had changed much since his school days. The battered wooden table still remained, the focal point of the kitchen. The rest of the room however was near unrecognisable. If he'd thought the changes wrought when Kreatcher started actually cleaning the place were drastic, it didn't even come close to this.

After the war, he'd decided that if he was to live in the house, he was going to get it renovated - he'd go mad if he had to live in the gloom of the place full time. Several weeks and a team of dedicated professionals later, the house had been transformed.

The bright, airy house resembled its former state the way a boot print resembles a boot, or a skeleton resembles an actual person - in other words, not much. 

He'd found it a great relief to no longer be living in a crypt but a home. As much as he loved the Burrow, having a space all his own was especially wonderful. Given that he had a tendency to be mobbed if he went out in public, the privacy of Grimmauld Place was a godsend. Having time to himself was a luxury these days. Despite his hopes, he was still as famous and recognizable as ever, and people had a tendency to converge on him whenever he was out in public.

He'd taken to avoiding unnecessary trips out in public, or at wearing a disguise. After the war, he'd commissioned a number of easy to wear disguises from the Weasley twins in the the hope of avoiding being mobbed. Four years on, and they'd become practice for the former boy wonder.

Speaking of publicity, he winced to think about what people would say in the wake of today's article. Yet another reason to avoid public appearances.

No doubt they'd be indignant on his behalf, he thought with a wry chuckle. Never mind that he and Ginny had been finished for months, and that he'd known about her and Luna for weeks.

Looking back, he wondered if he and Ginny had ever had a real chance of working out. They might have done, before the war. But those months on the run had left their mark, and the final battle even more so. Whoever they'd before, they'd been different people by the end.

Even then, it still might of worked. But they'd built each other up into something that they weren't, heaped expectations on the other until they'd fractured under the weight of them. 

It had painful, but he was glad had happened earlier rather than later. He found he could imagine with clarity a future where he'd done what was expected: where he had married Ginny, had kids, settled down and faded to obscurity. It had a certain appeal even now. 

Yet he could also imagine the fights.

They would start over something little, then escalate. Ginny would start screaming at him, anger conveyed in sweeping gestures and a halo of red hair. He'd be yelling back, just as furious. And upstairs, the kids would hide in their rooms and pretend they couldn't hear them.

It was a bleak picture, but realistic. 

He'd always had a temper, and so had Ginny. Their relationship had always balanced on a knife edge, particularly since the war. He was simply glad that they'd parted amicably - they other option would have been far messier, and they shared too many friends for a bad break up to be anything less than excruciatingly awkward.

He was glad that she'd found happiness. She deserved it. They were both happier then they'd been in years. 

Speaking on the subject of happiness, twin voices called out from the front of the house.

"We have returned-"

"Bearing gifts of-"

"Food and drink," finished Fred as he stepped through the kitchen door, followed moments later by George. Both carried bags bulging with food and even more that clinked conspicuously with every step. 

A couple of months ago, it would have been strange seeing the twins in Grimmauld Place, but times had changed. Instead, he eyed both the bags and the twins themselves with an appreciative eye. Times really had changed, he thought with amusement. 

"Anything special?" he asked, grinning.

"Why Harry-"

"Light of our lives-"

"Was there something you wanted?" George finished with a smirk.

Harry snickered. The twins' habit of finishing each others sentences was irritating to some, but he found it terribly endearing, and their over the top terms on endearment even more so. Once upon a time he would have blushed crimson at their words.

Instead, he leaned back in his seat and looked at the pair, emerald eyes flicking from Fred to George and back again. 

"So only food and drink? How mundane. I was expecting something more...exciting," he replied playfully. His tactics paid off when the pair exchange looks before donning truly wicked expressions as they stalk towards him.

As George drags him up for a passionate kiss, he can't help but think he's never been happier. When Fred starts starts divesting him of his shirt, he stops thinking at all.

X.X.X.X

Hours later, he found himself staring up at the bedroom ceiling. Somewhere along the way they'd made their way to the bed, and he found himself tangled in a sprawl of long, freckled limbs. It was how he spent most nights now.

A small smile graced his lips as he glanced at the men lying on either side of him. He hadn't expected this - but then who would? But in the wake of his breakup with Ginny, the friendship he'd fostered with the twins had sparked into something far more potent.

He'd always like the twins, even back in Hogwarts - for all he hated the attention at the time, he couldn't help but glad for all the times they'd lightened the tension in amongst whatever drama was plaguing him at the time. They'd paid attention to him, even when he simply their brother's underfed best friend, and that'd always meant a lot to him; in return he'd paid an equal amount of attention, though normally from a distance, back.

After the war, he'd spent plenty of time at their shop, so much so that it was practically a second home at this point. Ginny had urged him to go back to school, or train to be an auror, but he couldn't bring himself to.

Hogwarts, for all that his years there had been filled with chaos, had been a home to him. Yet when he went back to help with the rebuild, it wasn't the same. He'd lasted only a couple of hours before he left in a rush. The place that had once been a home was now soaked in memories of death for him. It was where people he had known and cared about: Remus, Tonks, his school mates - every death weighed heavily on his mind.

It was also where he'd killed. 

Voldemort had been a monster, certainly. But it didn't change the fact that he was a living being, and that he'd taken his life, even if it was Voldemort's own fault. And for Harry, that was it. He'd courted death for years, and he'd had enough. The prospect of hunting dark wizards no longer appealed - he just wanted peace. So he'd hung around in the twins' shop, helping out if needed.

The more Ginny had ragged at him to do something productive, the more time he'd spent there. In the end, something had had to give.

Looking at the peaceful faces of his lovers, he thought that he didn't mind the outcome.

H was better with the twins. Happier. They lavished attention on him, valued him just a Harry, not as some sort of saviour. He wondered whether that was why he'd always been able to tell them apart. They'd always noticed him, so he noticed them in return. 

Everyone, even Molly, seemed to view them as package deal. It was never just Fred or George separately - in everyone's mind they were a package deal. But to him at least, it had also been clear to him that they were also distinct people in their own right. A thousand intricate nuances separated them in personality and appearance. 

Of course, to be fair, the twins were an inseparable pair by choice. Harry staunchly refused to think about how close that had come to changing. They'd come close, far to close, to losing Fred, back in the final battle. The explosion should have killed him, but by some miracle it hadn't. It did however, break good deal of his bones, but it had been the preferable alternative to a Fred-less world.

"Why are you still awake?" mumbled the object of his thoughts. Harry smiled as he looked at Fred's sleep muddled face. He shook his head and shuffled closer in to Fred's side, curing is legs around George's. 

"No reason," he yawned back, already feeling sleep reaching for him. "No reason at all."


End file.
